


come on and work it for me

by deathflare



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gratuitous Smut, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathflare/pseuds/deathflare
Summary: “Do you,” he rasps, “haveany ideawhat you do to me?”“An inkling, yes,” she says, chuckling, cheeky little thing that she is, and he relishes the way her laughter dissolves into a moan when he presses his mouth to the curve of her neck andbites.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 14
Kudos: 169
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Crystal Exarch x WoL Recommendations





	come on and work it for me

**Author's Note:**

> what if i stopped working on my wip with actual plot to write 2.6k words of porn haha just kidding... unless?

“Do you,” he rasps, “have _any idea_ what you do to me?” 

“An inkling, yes,” she says, chuckling, cheeky little thing that she is, and he relishes the way her laughter dissolves into a moan when he presses his mouth to the curve of her neck and _bites_. 

He has her crowded against the doors of the Solar, his chest to her back, and he grinds his hips forward to make sure she can _feel_ exactly the effect she has on him. If the little breathy moan she makes low in her throat is any indication, she does. 

It had started small. He left early that day to take care of some business, so he didn’t get to see her until he walked into the Rising Stones already by noon—her and her choice of clothing, that is. Shiori had always been partial to dresses and skirts, usually combined with boots or socks that covered most of her legs and left just enough bare thigh exposed to haunt his thoughts as he shamefully took himself in hand and fantasized about pressing his mouth to that skin, bruising and marking her with his hands and teeth for the whole world to see—back when all he had were fantasies, when he couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ let himself touch her. 

Today, however. 

Today he walked into their headquarters to find her wearing what had to be the shortest skirt he had ever seen on her, a feeble little stripe of fabric that leaves little to the imagination—if anything at all, should she bend _just_ the right way—and a halfrobe with a sheer window to her cleavage. Her boots, leather and thigh high, hugged her legs so perfectly he was tempted to bend her over a table right then and there and fuck her with nothing but them on. 

And yet. G’raha would like to think he’s not some hormonal _boy_ who relinquishes any semblance of self control at the mere sight of his lover in some revealing clothing, so other than a few lingering glances her way he had, through no small amount of effort, left her be. She, however, was determined to not give him peace—crowding into his space, leaning far closer than she needed to whisper in his ear, a devious hand running up his thigh under the table. She _knew_ what she was doing, he could tell by the tilt of her smile, and his patience was running thin. 

The next time her hand reached for him he grabbed her wrist, a little more forcefully than he meant to, but she didn’t seem to mind—and that in itself made him picture things he would be tempted to try, later on. 

He glared at her. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, then—” 

“Then _what?”_ she had said with a knowing smile, a challenge, and that was it. He mumbled some excuse about needing her help finding something in the Solar that no one seemed to hear anyway, occupied with their own affairs as they were, and dragged her to the room—thankfully empty today, Unukalhai wrapped in some other business with Krile—turning her around and pressing her body against its doors with his own as soon as they had entered. 

He pins one of her wrists against the wall, mouth still on her neck as he brings his other hand down her stomach. He nudges her legs open with his knee, makes her spread them for him—he loves how easily she gives in, so pliant under his touch, always—and touches her through the thin fabric of her smallclothes. She moans, as does he when he feels she’s already wet enough to soak through her garments. 

“Heartless woman,” he says, “it took _everything_ I had to not bend you over a table and take you right there, to show all of them you’re _mine_ —” he slips his hand in her smallclothes and fucks two fingers inside of her with no preamble, soaked as she is, and the debauched little moan she lets out nearly makes him come right then and there. 

“You should— _ahh_ , you should have,” she huffs, “I would have let you.” 

Gods, she will be the end of him. 

“Shameless,” he chides, curls his fingers and marvels at the way her legs shake, her free hand coming up and behind to thread through his hair and _pull_. “What am I to do with you.’ 

“Whatever you want,” she answers, breathless, “As long as you do it _now_.” 

He releases her and Shiori whines at the loss of his fingers before he makes her turn and lowers himself to hold onto the back of her thighs, lifting her up and carrying her to the table at the center of her room. When he drops her on top of it she wraps her legs around his waist, as if there was ever a chance he would move away when she was laid before him like an offering, skirt hiked up and hair terribly disheveled, cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink and eyes filled with a desire he still can’t fathom she bears towards _him._

He leans down to kiss her, hard and desperate, swallows all the pretty sounds she makes when he brings his hands up to cup her perky tits through the thin fabric of her robe. He pulls back, and the sight of her with her eyes half-lidded and a thin trail of saliva still connecting their mouths is so obscene he’s tempted to forgo everything he plans on doing and just bury his cock in her until she’s screaming. 

“Fuck me,” she pleads, voice strained, and his hands tighten their hold around her waist. 

“I will,” he says, head spinning, “But first, you’re going to _beg_.” 

He pulls her robe up until it hangs disheveled above her breasts, immediately leaning down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth and _suck_ , rubs his tongue over the delicate skin until she’s whimpering and squirming underneath him. She’s dreadfully sensitive there, so responsive to all of his toucheshe has wondered at times if he could make her come just from this. When she reaches for him he takes her wrists and pins them down, turning his attention to the other side of her chest despite her whines. 

He pulls back only when he's truly satisfied—marvels at the sight of her breasts covered in little red lovebites, nipples over-sensitive and puffy, her chest heaving. When he leans down to give her one last lick she nearly shrieks, keeps the sound down only by biting her lip so hard he worries she might draw blood. 

“Raha,” she pants, “Raha, come _on—”_

He silences her with another kiss, open mouthed and filthy, all teeth and tongue, still keeping her wrists pinned down even as she squirms. He knows she could free herself if she wanted, have _him_ pinned down in a second, but it’s _this_ —the way she gives herself willingly, lets him have his way with her—that makes his heart race and his slacks feel terribly tight. 

“Not yet,” he says, mildly startled at how _feral_ his own voice sounds, “Not until you come for me.” 

He drops to his knees and pulls her hips to the edge of the table, presses a wet, open kiss to her still clothed sex just for the way she gasps. He takes his time sucking and biting the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, but his patience grows thin and ere long he is pulling her underwear to the side and burying his face in her, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue flat against the soft skin of her clit. 

Her hands reach down to thread through his hair, pulling and tugging it in her fist as her thighs quiver and shake around his head. G’raha growls low in his throat, hips thrusting up uselessly in the air, desperate for contact as he buries two fingers inside her and curls them up, feels her walls clench around him, hot and wet. _Gods,_ he wants nothing more than to fuck her until she comes screaming, having to be held down for the way she trashes, but this—her taste, her scent, her thighs shaking and toes curling and the sweet, desperate sounds she makes as he pulls her clit between his lips and runs tight little circles around it with his tongue—he could die here, nestled between the soft skin of her thighs, and he would die the happiest man in this star. 

She comes faster than he expected, yanking painfully at his hair and squeezing her thighs so tight around him he can barely move—or breathe. She gushes against his mouth, clenches down on his fingers, and it’s so _tight_ his head spins madly at the thought of feeling her squeeze like that around his cock, of coming deep inside of her as she whimpers his name and shakes around him. 

He stands up again and is rewarded with the sight of her flushed all the way down to her chest, pretty tits littered with marks old and new (his, all _his_ ), hair terribly disheveled. She looks _sinful_ , wrecked and utterly debauched, and his heart swells at the thought that _he_ did this to her. Others may see her in all her glory, the fabled hero of this realm and beyond, but he’s the only one who gets to see her like _this_ —ruined and ravished, just for him. 

He kisses her again, slow this time but no less passionate, licks into her mouth and lets her taste herself on his tongue as he fumbles with the buttons of his trousers, sighing with relief when his cock finally springs free. 

“Raha,” she gasps when they break apart. “Fuck me, Raha. Please, I need—” 

He doesn’t wait for her to finish before pulling her back and around, bending her over the table like he’s wanted to from the start. He drags her underwear down roughly with one hand, puts his foot down on it so it falls to the floor and she can step, shakily, out of it, and gods, there she is, finally bare and dripping wet for him, the height of the table forcing her on her tiptoes, her skirt hiked up to her waist. 

He bends over her, rubs his cock teasingly between her folds and kisses the back of her neck. He moves to grab her tail, and when he gives it a light tug she _mewls_ , legs quivering. He pulls back and lines himself up, the fat head of his cock finally breaching her, sliding in, slow and hot and impossibly tight—and then he stops. 

“Raha—!” she cries, indignant. How sweet, the sound of his name on her lips. 

“Beg,” he says, simply, even as it takes every ounce of self control in his body to keep still. 

She tries to buck her hips back against him, but he holds her down firmly. “Please, Raha, I—” she says, voice cracking. “I just want you inside me, I need you to fuck me, _please_.” 

He stays perfectly still, breath hot and heavy as he keeps her hips pinned down. She lets out a little desperate noise. 

“One more time,” he says. 

She pushes herself up on her elbows, still trembling, turns around to look at him. What a sight—her, bent over, standing on her tiptoes with trembling thighs, her pussy fluttering and clenching desperately around the fat head of his cock. G’raha could come just like this. 

“Please, Raha. I need you to fuck me,” she whispers, looking at him, looking _right at him,_ eyes wet and heavy lidded. “I need you to make me come.” 

“ _Gods,”_ he says, finally, finally taking her in one swift motion, burying himself to the hilt as she moans, loud and low and needy. He doesn’t wait, _can’t_ wait anymore, thrusts fast and hot and deep until he can’t think anymore, until the only thing he hears in his mind are her moans and the filthy slaps of skin on skin. He straightens up to watch, fascinated, his cock driving in and out of her, the perfect, tight stretch of her lips around his girth, the dirty squelch of her slick as she gushes around him, so, so hot and so, so wet. 

His grip on her is so brutal he knows by tomorrow she’ll have a new set of bruises in the shape of his fingers for him to admire in the mornings. He pulls her hips back towards him even as he thrusts forward, hip bones meeting the plush curve of her ass with every thrust. G’raha groans, low and deep in his throat, looms over her again to bite at the curve of her shoulder as he thrusts impossibly deeper, and Shiori _wails_. She gets louder and louder, and in a miraculous moment of clarity he remembers they’re _still_ in the Rising Stones, brings one hand up to cover her mouth. 

“You really are shameless,” he says, breathless, “moaning like that when all of our friends are just next door. Is it that good, Shiori? Does my cock,” he punctuates his words with a thrust so hard her whole body moves a few ilms forward on the table, gasping against his hand, “feel so good you can’t help yourself?” 

Filth falls unbidden from his lips, words he would flush at himself were he not so utterly overwhelmed with desire. Were he still the Exarch, speaking thus to her, his hero, his _star_ , would be unthinkable. But each day that passes by in this new life, this new old body of his, a new part of him of him unshackles—such hunger he feels, such thirst. She drives him mad, and he could not be more glad for it. 

“You’re so good,” he says, delirious, “Look so— _pretty_ with my cock in you, Shiori, so good for me, so perfect—” 

She places a hand over his and he lets her pull it away from her mouth, only for her to shift it so she can suck on two his fingers, moaning softly around them. By the Twelve, he’s not going to last. 

“Come for me,” he begs, desperately, and she does. He can feel her pulsing around his cock, the wet, soft squeeze and flutter of her walls and he doubles over her and pushes _in_ , holds still as he pants and blows his release inside of her, both of them struggling for air as the world around them spins and quakes. 

For a long moment they lay there, his chest to her back, him pinning her down to the table and pressing soft kisses to any skin his lips can reach as he comes down from his high. Her legs shake and she whimpers when he pulls out of her and watches, delighted, as his come spills out of her body. 

“And you call _me_ shameless,” he hears her say, looks up to see her glancing back at him, a wry smile on her face as if to say _enjoying the show, are you_. “I never thought I would hear you talk to me like _that_.” 

He feels shy, despite himself. “You have an uncanny ability to make me do a great many things I would never think myself capable of,” he admits, gently helping her sit up on the table, spinning her around to face him. “At the very least, you certainly know how to drive a man insane.” 

“If riling you up like that gets me more of _this_ ,” she says, throwing her arms over his shoulders and littering kisses on his neck. “Then I’ll gladly continue to do so.” 

“Incorrigible,” he chides, but can’t help smiling as he leans down to kiss her.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! they do clean up the place afterwards so unukalhai isn't scarred for life. if you're curious, [these](https://twitter.com/deathflares/status/1297978391140933634) are the clothes shiori was wearing. 
> 
> i'm less horny on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deathflares) and [tumblr](https://verthunder.tumblr.com/), but you're welcome to join me there anyway.


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